


Maid of Honour

by AlphaOri



Series: The Potions Master's Pet [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Ginny Weasley Perspective, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-11-02 09:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaOri/pseuds/AlphaOri
Summary: Ginny probably could have put two and two together had she not been so busy with wedding preparations.





	Maid of Honour

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
I talked a big game about my multi-chapter fic and what good progress I was making, and that was true for a bit. But then I wrote 33,000 words of a completely unrelated fic that I then realized was only a third of the way done, and then adult life got really busy, and now I'm going to be buried with work until at least November.  
So, because I won't have other stuff edited and ready to post until after I get through the next month and a half (if not later) I thought I'd throw this up for anyone who's been wanting more Potions Master's Pet.  
This is borderline unedited, but if I don't post it now you probably won't get it at all, so please forgive any mistakes! 
> 
> I'll work on something sexier for y'all for Christmas ;)

For the first few months, it was the preparation that kept her from panic. In the early days she had let others help – let her mother and sister-in-law wrest control from her over what flowers, which dressmaker, what music, which seating arrangement. She hadn’t thought it mattered to her, hadn’t ever thought of herself as particularly fussy about girlish things. But as time wore on and the date loomed ever closer, the more her anxiety grew, and the more she started to take back control.

The flowers would no longer be roses and peonies, but white carnations and delphinium, accented with Queen Anne’s lace. The dress was no longer the modern sleeveless cut, but a modest and classic style with delicate lace sleeves and an empire waist. The soundtrack was no longer the wizarding world’s best love songs, but a mix of magical and muggle music. And under no circumstances could great-aunt Aelwen be sat next to cousin Benjamin. It just wouldn’t do.

She spent her days juggling her Quidditch training and caterer meetings, training with the team and arguing with Fleur about whether or not green bridesmaid’s dresses were a faux pas.

When she realized there was only one month left, the planning no longer tamped down the fear. She started to second-guess herself, started to wonder if maybe letting her father figure out how to power a stereo _would_ be better than the live band. She wondered which of her bridesmaids could afford buying a second dress if it turned out green was a terrible choice. She wondered if maybe she should seat Dudley Dursley next to one of her more eccentric relatives, just to spite him for how he’d treated Harry in the past, no matter how petty it would be.

Exactly 12 days before they were meant to walk down the aisle, she was sitting by herself in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen, surrounded by a new batch of sample cakes. She’d long ago settled on a light vanilla cake with strawberries, raspberries and blueberries, the perfect mix of sweet and tart. But she’d started to wonder, _is this a mistake? _and, in a state of absolute terror, had ordered new samples from the baker.

She’d taken a bite from each slice before breaking down into wailing sobs. She could have, and gladly would have, cried herself to death had there not been a sharp knock at the front door. Her breath came in stifling gasps as she made her way to the foyer. Harry would be at the Ministry until late that night – his time off didn’t start until two days before the wedding. She couldn’t think of who would be dropping by at 8p.m. on a Monday, but she tried her best to wipe away the mascara coating her wet cheeks in the off-chance it was her mother.

It wasn’t.

“Hermione?!” She squealed, then immediately burst into a fresh round of tears. Hermione was laughing and saying something, but she couldn’t hear her over her own embarrassed heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She was led back to the kitchen where her maid of honour began fixing a fresh pot of tea.

“What did you say, ‘Mione? I’m so sorry, I must look such a mess,” She tried, wiping her eyes once again.

“Don’t worry about it, Ginny. Even weeping you make a lovely bride,” Hermione replied, winking at her from the stove. “I was saying I’m glad my surprise went over so well!”

Ginny hiccupped a giggle, sniffling through the last of her tears. “I swear the crying has nothing to do with you! On the contrary, this is the best surprise I think I’ve ever gotten! I didn’t think you’d be here until Sunday?”

“I had planned on it, yes, but then I spoke with my Professors and they all agreed I was plenty prepared for exams without the next three days of studying, so I sat them early. Tea?”

“Yes please, and thank you,” Ginny replied, beaming. “And thank you for coming early, I clearly need a friendly face at the moment!”

“It appears you need a friendly mouth, too,” Hermione motioned to the cakes.

After tea was made, they sat together and tried every slice. Ginny was both frustrated and relieved that Hermione chose the same vanilla and berry cake she’d been planning on originally.

“It was all such fun at first, planning for some hypothetical celebration,” She explained as they sat back in their chairs, stuffed to the brim with sweets. “But the closer we get to the actual day, the more afraid I become. I thought it was a myth, a bride getting cold feet! And me, of all people - Imagine!”

“Well I’m glad I came early then,” Hermione replied, stirring more cream into her tea. “As your maid of honour, it’s my duty to alleviate some of this… well I was going to say stress, but ‘psychosis’ might be more apt.”

They laughed together deep into the night, Hermione taking her mind off her impending nuptials by recounting her last few months of university. They hadn’t seen one another since Christmas Hols, hadn’t even flooed one another in two months.

Hermione had spent the first year after the war helping in any way she could – mostly by volunteering at St. Mungo’s. Hermione had always been adept at healing charms, and wasn’t as bad at Potions as Snape had made her out to be. She’d made a difference there, had truly helped heal the community with her attentiveness. After eleven months of caring for the injured, burying the dead, speaking with the mourning, and generally standing by Harry and Ron as a symbol of the new wizarding way, she’d gone to France to continue her education.

It had surprised Ginny a bit at first, though everyone else had acted like they’d expected nothing less from the great Hermione Granger. But Ginny had assumed Hermione would stay closer to home, closer to Ron. She’d expected Ron to follow her abroad, or at least be devastated that she was leaving, but they’d apparently agreed to go their separate ways for a while.

Hermione was her maid of honour because she was their best friend – hers _and_ Harry’s. And Ron was Harry’s best man for the same reason. And though she knew it was none of her business, Ginny couldn’t help but hope that they would attend the ceremony together – as more than just best man and maid of honour.

They stayed up chatting until Harry got home. That reunion, and the surprise on Harry’s face to find Hermione in their kitchen, made Ginny burst into another bout of crying, made worse by the fact that she was laughing so hard at the same time.

It was late, though, and she and Hermione had a lot to do over the next two weeks, so they all agreed to turn in shortly after his arrival. As they climbed the steps to their respective bedrooms, Harry teased Hermione about how pleased Ron would be to see her. Hermione dismissed him with a playful tone, and a noncommittal rebuke, but there was some strange light in her eyes that nagged at Ginny as she shut the door to their room. It bothered her still as she cleaned her teeth and changed into her silk nightgown. It played at the corner of her mind as she kissed Harry goodnight, and let him envelope her in his arms. And it kept her awake for as long as it could, whispering to her as she tried to slip into sleep, making her wonder what secret thing it was she didn’t know about Hermione Granger.

* * *

The next few days were a whirlwind, but Hermione was alarmingly skilled at keeping up with her, even as she continued to worry herself into frenzy. Hermione had seemingly developed an endless supply of patience, and an almost Zen-like ability to stay calm in the face of a screaming ginger. After every dramatic outburst, Ginny would apologize profusely for over-reacting to whatever thing had set her off, and Hermione would only smile serenely and tell her, “no problem at all!” before sitting her down for a spot of tea or a quick biscuit before returning to their errands.

Together they managed to finalize the bridesmaid dress designs; Hermione agreed that the deep emerald green was the perfect color for every woman who would stand behind Ginny, as well as perfectly suited to the colors of the Burrow’s countryside, where the ceremony and reception would both take place. They also reassured the baker that the cake was perfect, and no, Ginny wouldn’t be changing her mind after all, _we promise!_ Hermione had even let her squeeze the life from her hand as she turned to see the final tailored version of her cream-colored dress, perfectly shaped to her body, in the mirror of the dress shop.

They spent every day together, only apart when Ginny had duties with the Harpies, or when Hermione returned to her rented cottage each night. Ginny often skirted the topic of her brother, hoping Hermione would finally open up, but she was constantly evaded.

It was on Friday morning, a week before the wedding and the day before her hen do, that Ginny finally decided to bite the bullet and ask about Hermione’s love life. She’d grown increasingly suspicious that Hermione had shrugged off her mentions of Ron because she was seeing someone else. They were having breakfast together in Ottery St Catchpole, at a charming little café overlooking the small stream that ran through town.

“So, have you seen Ron yet?” She asked, sipping her tea as if it was a harmless question.

“You know I haven’t, I’ve been with you all hours of the day,” Hermione replied airily, but she had that same secretive little smirk she’d worn her first night back home.

Ginny eyed the smile suspiciously before continuing. “Yes, but not while I’m at Quidditch practice. And not all hours of the night.”

Hermione choked on her tea at this, laughing incredulously. “Really, Ginny, what kind of a woman do you think I am?” She put her hand to her heart in mock outrage.

“Honestly, I thought I knew what kind of woman you are, but you’ve been gone so long it seems you’ve grown into an entirely new one,” Ginny replied, and while it was meant to sound joking and light, there must have been a hint of truth in the statement itself. Hermione sobered at the words, growing concerned.

“I’ve visited every Holiday--” she started, but Ginny cut her off, suddenly feeling guilty.

“No, Hermione I didn’t mean it like that! I’m so proud of you for getting your degree, really!”

“It’s okay, Ginny, I’ve missed you too! And I could do much better at keeping in touch!”

“No, it’s not okay, _I _should be better at keeping in touch! And it’s none of my business who you are or aren’t with!”

Ginny half expected to continue the rapid-fire back and forth until they both burst into tears and shared an emotional hug, but Hermione had gone quite still.

“But it is, Ginny,” She said, the secret smile trying to quirk her lip once again, though she was clearly fighting it. “You’re my best friend, of course you’d want to know who I’m seeing.”

“So you are seeing someone, then?” Hermione nodded her affirmation. “And it’s not Ron?”

“No, it’s not Ron.”

The statement quelled whatever elation she felt at having her assumptions confirmed. She waited a moment, but Hermione didn’t elaborate.

“Okay… Is it someone I know?” She asked, starting to feel a bit peeved.

Hermione’s lip quirked again, but she didn’t let the full smile take over. “Yes, it’s someone you know.”

“Will you be taking him to the wedding?”

Hermione hesitated for a moment before she answered. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes, feeling like every step forward was three steps back in this particular conversation. “Are you going to decide soon? I mean, it’ll be awfully short notice if you don’t ask him in the next five minutes or so. You are aware the wedding is in a week?”

“Yes, I remember. But he’s already been invited to the wedding, so he’ll be there either way.”

“And you’re really not going to tell me who it is?”

“I will, when the time is right.”  
  
“And when will that be?!”

“When I’m ready.”

Ginny felt like she could spit she was so frustrated, but thought it might not be becoming of a nearly married woman. She settled for angrily stuffing some pastry into her mouth instead, chasing it down with her nearly cold tea.

“It’s nothing personal, Ginny, it’s just…” Hermione eyed her like she was a wild animal, so she shoved some more sweets into her mouth to stop from saying something mean. “We’re still figuring some things out.”

“Well,” Ginny said, trying to choke down the latest bite, “If he’s worth anything he’ll figure it out soon. And if he doesn’t, you better realize you deserve better.”

Hermione beamed at her, biting her lip in that particularly Hermione way. “Thank you, Ginny, but it’s actually me who has the figuring-out to do. I still have a year in France before I get my degree, then I need to think about my career, and how he’ll fit into all of that, and would he even want to live with me? How long could we live together before he got bored of me? And would we live here, or abroad, or—“

“Sweet Merlin, Hermione, I didn’t realize!” Ginny interrupted, realization dawning on her as she watched her friend’s emotions pour out.

“Realize what?” Hermione asked, annoyance flashing as Ginny started to laugh.

“You’re in love!” Ginny squealed, practically falling out of her chair in excitement. “You’re doing exactly what I was doing before you arrived!”  
  
“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ that I’ve been panicking about this wedding because it means I’m starting my future with Harry – a future we’ll have to build together, and that’s a scary thing, no matter how sure you are. I love Harry, and I want to spend my life with him, but it’s a big step with a lot of uncertainties. And loving someone means you have something to lose – you’re afraid you’re going to lose what you’ve got with this bloke, so you’re making excuses as to why you shouldn’t jump in feet first!”

“Knees first,” Hermione whispered, staring at her hands on the table.

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind,” She replied, then met Ginny’s gaze with a warm smile. “Maybe you’re right, Ginny. I mean you’re definitely right about the first part. I do love him.”

Ginny squealed again, and then laughed as Hermione covered her ears from the offending sound. “Well I think you should ask him to be your date to the wedding, _officially_. You don’t have to go all in – feet first or otherwise – it’s just a date to a wedding! No big deal at all.”

“Yes, well, I’ll think about it,” Hermione replied, trying to hide the embarrassed grin spreading across her mouth. “But it’s more of a big deal than you think.”

They paid for their meal and continued on their errands for the day, Ginny’s heart lighter than it had been in months. The panic over the wedding felt like a thing of the past, and she couldn’t help but hope that the small blush that continually crept up Hermione’s cheeks was due to something other than the warm sun.

* * *

The next night was both her hen and Harry’s stag party. Harry’s mates were supposed to arrive around 4p.m. to begin festivities at Grimmauld Place, but Ron showed up an hour early. He was clearly planning on getting a head start over the other groomsmen, if the bottle of whisky he had in tow was anything to judge by.

“Well I suppose I can head over to Hermione’s early, leave you boys to it,” she said, ignoring Harry’s apologetic look. If anyone knew what to expect from Ron, it was her.

“Hermione’s? You’re going to Hermione’s?” Ron asked, sloshing the shot glass of liquor he’d just poured.

“Yes, Ron, she is my maid of honour.”

“Will you ask her if we can reschedule, do lunch on Monday instead? I have a feeling I won’t be up for food tomorrow,” he saluted her with his shot glass, sloshing even more of it over his hand while he grinned.

She agreed, but refused to let her curiosity get the best of her and ask outright about the lunch date. She said her goodbyes and gathered her things before heading out the door, apparating to the street just down the lane from Hermione’s rented home. It was in a small wizarding village where one of Ginny’s mates lived, but she’d never been to the cottage Hermione was staying in.

She strolled along the lane with a smile on her face, eager to ask Hermione about the lunch plans with Ron. _Was she planning on telling him about her mystery man? And if so, is it because she’s inviting him to the wedding? _Her grin grew the more she thought about it, mentally scrolling through all the single men they’d invited to the wedding, wondering which one was _the one_.

As she approached the cottage, she realized there was someone in the garden. Her first thought was a hired gardener, but as she opened the gate to the yard, she discovered it was Hermione herself.

“Hey, ‘Mione!” She called, waving. Hermione turned suddenly, panic on her face.

“Ginny! What are you doing here?”

Ginny scrunched her nose in confusion before answering. “Oh, right, I’m early – Ron showed up with liquor and I didn’t want to see my husband-to-be embarrass himself.”

Hermione didn’t move, still looking at her with shock. “I can… come back later?” Ginny suggested, worry starting to nag at her.

“No!” Hermione said, snapping out of her stupor. “Sorry, Ginny, I just wasn’t expecting… Um, you can go in, I guess. There’s champagne in the kitchen, and hors d’oeuvres on the table in the sitting room.”

Ginny nodded and started towards the front door, only to stop when she realized Hermione was still kneeling in the dirt of the flower bed. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing, just a spot of gardening,” Hermione replied, almost breathless, flashing her a brilliantly bright smile. “Say, would you send Mr. Snape out?”

Ginny just stared at her for a moment, watching Hermione struggle to keep the carefree smile on her face. “Mister… Snape?”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, he should be right in the sitting room, to the left when you go in.”

Ginny opened her mouth to clarify, but couldn’t think of what to ask that would coax any sort of satisfying answer, so she just nodded and went inside.

She half expected Hermione had had some sort of breakdown, but it was true – Professor Snape was seated on the couch with a heavy book open upon his crossed knees. He didn’t even look up when she entered, his chin in his hand and his index finger tapping lightly on his bottom lip. He spoke as she shut the door behind her.

“Has it been an hour already? Perhaps my internal clock is off, but I don’t believe its been more than 47 minutes.”

She wasn’t sure how to answer, since she wasn’t sure what he was asking. She cleared her throat instead, and awkwardly said, “Professor,” in greeting. He started when she spoke, looking at her like he’d seen a ghost.

“Miss Weasley,” He started, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek not to giggle at the thrill of fear he could still send through her. “Where is Miss Granger?”

“In the garden, I believe, Sir. That’s where I left her, at least.”

“Ah, yes…” He said, looking to the window. Ginny wondered if maybe _she’d_ had some sort of breakdown, or if she’d had an accident and slipped into a coma – this bizarre situation was clearly not born of reality.

“What are you doing here, sir?” She asked, mentally check listing all the ways he could torture her, even if detention was no longer one of the options.

“I own this cottage,” He replied, as if it didn’t raise a thousand more questions. “Why don’t you help yourself to some champagne, Miss Weasley, while I call Miss Granger in.”

Ginny was still out of sorts enough that getting sloshed seemed to be a perfectly reasonable response to a perfectly unreasonable situation, so she nodded her agreement and went to the kitchen. She heard the front door open, close, then open and close again. Hermione walked breezily into the kitchen, the strange, strained smile still on her face.

“Ah, lovely, you found the champagne!” Hermione poured some into her own flute, while Ginny tried to stop staring at the dirt sloughing off her knees and shins. The Professor walked in, clearing his throat.

“I suppose I should be going, Miss Granger. Do floo if you need anything else,” He said, and left before either could give him any reply.

Ginny stared after him for a long moment before turning to Hermione, her eyebrows raised. Hermione was taking one long, continuous sip from her champagne, like the glass was fused to her lips.

“What was he doing here?” She finally managed, hoping her maid of honour wasn’t going to drown herself a week before the wedding.

“Minor repairs to the cottage, nothing serious.”

“What sort of—“

“The other girls should be here by 4, only a half hour or so! Shall we begin our makeup?”

Nothing could have raised a bigger red flag than Hermione showing interest in makeup, but Ginny let it drop regardless. The night ended up being such fun, from getting made up and dressed up at Hermione’s to going dancing in muggle London, to a bit of bar hopping in Diagon Alley – all thought of the strange afternoon fled Ginny’s mind until the next day.

She was a bit hung-over, yes, though she didn’t feel nearly as poor as Harry appeared to. They spent their Sunday snuggled in together, nursing their respective headaches and listing all the possible bachelors that could be Hermione’s secret beau. It wasn’t until they were preparing for bed that evening that Ginny started to think on Hermione’s strange behavior, and Snape’s inexplicable presence.

Her mind asked her some very uncomfortable questions, but she refused to entertain them. _It’s just not possible_, she thought for the thousandth time. _It’s just not possible, no matter how smart a match it would be._

* * *

The morning of the wedding flashed by like lightning. Ginny had about a dozen panic attacks and crying fits, and Hermione took them all with a grace that belied her still-young age.

By the time she was in her dress, with perfect hair and makeup, Ginny was inventing problems just so she could marvel at how quickly Hermione solved them. There was no thing too small that Hermione wasn’t willing to do. When she, without complaining or questioning, fetched Ginny one of the rushes from along the side of the Burrow’s pond, Ginny burst into hysterical laughter. Hermione had smacked her on the arm for messing with her, but laughed along nonetheless.

In truth, by the time there was only an hour to go before the ceremony began, Ginny was feeling more relaxed than she ever could have imagined. All her bridesmaids were gathered around her, sipping champagne and laughing about old memories, when Hermione quietly excused herself from the room. Ginny was in such good spirits that she didn’t even have a skipped heartbeat at the thought of Hermione’s not being in earshot.

When Molly went to find Arthur, for it was almost time to walk down the aisle, Ginny went to find Hermione. There was no chance of the groom seeing her; the men’s dressing area had been set up in a many-roomed tent on the grounds, while the women took the Burrow itself. Molly had been quite the stickler on the “no men inside the house until after the ceremony” rule.

Ginny tried half a dozen rooms on two different stories before she heard a noise from the third floor. She climbed up the stairs, her silk slippers quiet against the old wood. There was a soft voice coming from the room that was once hers. Perhaps she didn’t knock precisely because she still thought of it as hers.

It took a moment for her to realize what she was seeing. At first all she registered was Hermione, sitting upon her old vanity, and Professor Snape standing before her, having some whispered conversation. But no, that wasn’t quite right – He wasn’t standing before her, but between her legs. And she wasn’t sitting on the vanity so much as perched on the very edge, and it certainly wasn’t holding her up – the Professor was. Her legs around the Professor were. And they weren’t having a conversation… Or, at least, not the kind she had thought.

As the realization hit her – _He’s fucking her! Professor Snape is fucking her!_ – Hermione met her gaze. She didn’t wait for any reaction, just dropped her eyes and backed out, closing the door as quietly as she could. She stumbled down the stairs and into the Burrow’s kitchen in a daze, where her mother grabbed at her frantically, asking “Where have you been?! Late to your own wedding, I swear!” and a thousand other complaints Ginny didn’t hear.

She was led outside and into the enclosed entrance of the big tent. Her father was there, and the last of the bridesmaids and grooms, all of who exclaimed at her beauty and whispered words of encouragement, taking her shocked expression as cold feet. Ron was asking, “Are you alright?” when Hermione suddenly burst in through the tent’s flap.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something – probably something like _WHAT THE FUCK?!_ – But it was too late; Hermione was avoiding her gaze and taking Ron’s arm, and then they were through the door and in the main tent.

Only moments later, it was her turn. She took her father’s proffered arm and they entered.

The attendees stood, tears welling in many eyes as they passed. Ginny felt like she was walking through quicksand, her mind buzzing with a billion bees. Her bridesmaids were all beaming at her, dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs, but Hermione was looking resolutely into the middle distance. Her eyes swept to the right until she saw Harry, who was looking at her with a mix of overwhelming adoration and nervousness.

Her father handed her away, shaking Harry’s hand. Harry’s eyes were shining now, too, but Ginny could barely register anything besides the presence of Hermione directly behind her.

She and Harry turned to the officiant, who began his opening remarks, speaking about the pair like he knew them at all.

She knew it should wait, that she should be in ecstasy at the moment, but she couldn’t help herself – she leaned over to Harry and whispered hurriedly, “It’s Snape!”

His smile faltered as he shot her a questioning look.

“It’s fucking Snape! It’s… _she’s fucking Snape!_”

She could see his lips start to form a question right before the realization hit his eyes.

“NO!” he yelled, turning to face her fully. The officiant faltered and went silent, eyeing them both in alarm. There were some gasps from the crowd. Ginny couldn’t stop herself; she burst out laughing.

“Oh for God’s sake, you couldn’t wait until after the ceremony?!” Hermione hissed, which made her laugh harder. She turned, tears leaking from her eyes as she put a hand to Hermione’s shoulder.

“I’m so-sorry, ‘Mione, I just… It was su-such a shock!” She managed between great gasps and giggles.

“Should I... Stop?” Asked the officiant, looking between the bride and groom.

“No, no, I’m so sorry! Sorry everyone!” Ginny said, first to the officiant and then to their audience. She was still laughing when she saw Snape at the entrance of the tent, arms crossed and looking every bit her sour old Potions Master. “Sorry!”

He just gave her one grave, exasperated nod.

The officiant waited for a few more seconds while she hiccupped and giggled before continuing.

Despite the start, it was a lovely ceremony.

And despite their initial reaction, Harry and Ginny both spent a fair portion of the reception gushing over what a good couple their maid of honour and ex-Professor made. Ron danced a few songs with Hermione, pleased that he’d known her secret for a whole week before anyone else and hadn’t been the one to spoil the surprise.

When asked how she’d found out, Ginny couldn’t keep from bursting into more peels of laughter. She continued to apologize profusely, hoping Hermione and Snape wouldn’t take it the wrong way, but they both just smiled at her with the same small quirk of the lip – the same secret smile Hermione had worn since her first night back in England.

Hermione danced with Snape when he asked her to. And then she danced with him for every subsequent song as well. And at the end of the night, when Ginny was flushed with alcohol and dancing and the love of her new husband, she hugged Hermione to her and told her, honestly, how very happy she was that Hermione had found someone who deserved her.

In the wee hours of the morning she kissed Hermione’s cheeks, and said a polite goodbye to her old Professor. It wasn’t until they were right at the edge of the tent that she remembered a question that had been burning in her brain all week. She shouted her query across the tent as Snape held the flap open for Hermione to duck through.

“’Mione, why were you kneeling in the garden?”


End file.
